Tangled in Red
by funguss
Summary: Professor Flitwick is on sabbatical for a year and Fred Weasley takes over. Hermione now enjoys school even more ;). Love, sex, violence and all that good stuff ensue. HIATUS - currently focusing on Those Damn Aces. Please R&R that one!
1. Flitwick's Sabbatical

Please tell me what you think! Constructive critisism is more than welcome. And if it just plain sucks, please tell me so.  
  
Fred Weasley had just recieved a letter from Albus Dumbledore. Professor Flitwick was on sabbatical that year and Dumbledore was having trouble finding a substitute. Fred seemed like the perfrect candidate seeing as he was extrememly talented with joke charms. He must have been extremely talented at charms to have caused all that ruckus with Ultrabitch Umbridge.  
  
Fred felt flattered and wanted to accept the offer immediately but then he thought about the shop he ran with his brother, George.   
  
He looked back down at the yellowed parchment in his hands and read at the bottom of the document that his salalry would be quite generous.   
  
"Generous salary, seeing my younger friends during the year, torturing slytherins, performing magic," Fred grumbled to himself, listing all of the reasons why he should take on this job. Teaching seemed like it would be amusing. George could run the shop by himself for a year.  
  
"Mom! I'm teaching at Hogwarts this year!" Fred called out as casually as announcing a trip to the grocery store.  
  
"What!?" Mrs. Weasley shrieked. The shrill sound of pots crashing to the floor sounded from the kitchen.  
  
"I said I'm taching at Hogwarts this year," Fred repeated, stuffing the letter into his pocket.  
  
Mrs. Weasley rushed out of the kitchen with a light pink apron sloppily tied around her neck. "Says who?" she demanded.  
  
"Says Dumbledore. What's for dinner?"  
  
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Mrs. Weasley gasped, forcing a laugh. "Gode have pity for anybody unfortunate enough to become your pupil."  
  
"Hey! I think I'd make a great teacher!" Fred protested as he yanked the letter out of his pocket and tossed it at his mother, who took a minute to read it.  
  
"You're on your own kid. You're a man now; make up your own mind. I cannot control you anymore," Mrs. Weasley sighed, feigning a calm voice even though it was clear that she disapproved of this.   
  
Fred was shocked that his mother did not put her foot down as she used to when he was younger, but Mrs. Weasley, after raising four other boys to adulthood, knew very well when to let go. 


	2. Two Brothers Shake Hands

"What the hell are you doing?" Bill asked his brother upon finding him sitting atop a dusty black trunk.  
  
"Trying to get this shit closed," Fred answered, now pounding on the lid of the trunk with his fist.  
  
"Well, obviously. I mean where the hell are you going?"  
  
"Hogwarts. Could you give me a hand with this blasted trunk?" Fred growled frusteratedly as the lid of the trunk popped open.  
  
Bill rolled his eyes. "Just use magic," he said exasperatedly. "Like this..." He pulled an old wand out of his dungaree pocket, held it high above his head and shouted the incantation for some simple locking charm. The trunk's lid flew shut and quickly latched. "Now, why didn't you think of that yourself?"  
  
"I'm teaching at Hogwarts this year. I'm not allowed to use magic in vain. Thanks," Fred said as he sculpted his wild red mohawk into a series of lethal spikes.  
  
"You're going to teach at Hogwarts... Looking like that?"Bill laughed, pointing at Fred's lovely hairdo.  
  
"Yeah, why not? They can't fire me because of my hair-style. OH! I almost forgot!" He yelped when he noticed his favorite pair of battered combat boots by his bed, one having been tipped over on its side.  
  
"Leave the damn combat boots," Bill advised. "As sexy as they are, they will not help you make a good impression. Besides, your trunk cannot fit any more."  
  
Fred was glad thet Bill did not object to his upcoming teaching job as strongly as his father, who had refused to write a reccomendation. He became more angry when Fred told him that no reccomendation was needed; he already sent Pigwidgeon to Dumbledore with his reply and Pig had returned that morning with news that he got the job. Mr. Weasley was concerned about the students becoming corrupted due to Fred's wonderful influence.  
  
Explaining the situation to George, however, would be a whole different story.  
  
------------------  
  
"What!? But what about the shop?" George exploded upon hearing his twin brother's plans for the year.  
  
"You can take care of the shop for a year." Fred was not expecting George to settle with this solution. He just had nothing else to say.  
  
"All by myself!? We agreed on day one that this would be a team effort!"  
  
"So hire a few part-timers," Fred suggested. This time, he was expecting George to be content.  
  
"It's not that simple, Fred; it's a big ordeal to start hiring!" George shouted, flailing his arms as if he were about to strangle his brother.  
  
"I'll tell you what," Fred thought out loud as an excellent idea entered his brain, "I'll be getting payed a ton so I could put twenty percent of my income towards the shop."  
  
This idea calmed George somewhat. His face was still redder than his hair but he stopped hollering and thought for a moment.  
  
"Thirty-five percent," snapped George.   
  
Fred twitched his mouth as he thought this over for a moment. "Alright. Thirty-five. It's a deal."  
  
"Hand shake?" George asked, extending his arm. The two brother shook hands and cemented a deal.  
  
All of a sudden, the heavy sound of muggle music sounded from outside. 


	3. God Damn the Torpedoes

The familiar riff blasted through the Burrow; Fred was certain he heard it at a muggle rock show he attended a month ago.   
  
There goes the neighborhood  
  
And somehow you knew it would  
  
Cause you understand  
  
Armageddon's right around the bend  
  
He flung the window open and stuck his head out.  
  
"KMFDM!" he shouted, feeling proud that he could identify the song.  
  
You got your fortune right in your hands  
  
You do what you gotta do  
  
Cause you got a climb an attitude  
  
And you say goodbye as easy as most people tell a lie  
  
In the field, next to a large, black battery-powered boom-box, Hermione was lying atop Ron. She appeared to be licking his chest. Fred felt a slight sensation of jealousy trickle down his spine. He always found Hermione oddly sexy, especially when studying or screaming at delinquents.   
  
You choose no options  
  
you do or die  
  
God damn the torpedoes  
  
it's time to run away with the sideshow  
  
But he sighed as he reminded himself that she would never think of him as more than one of Ron's misfit brothers or perhaps just an acquaintance.  
  
Full speed right ahead  
  
Don't stop, you can sleep when you're dead  
  
"Is that KMFDM?!" Fred asked intending to make Hermione to stop slobbering on his little brother.  
  
She picked her head up and looked around, confused.  
  
That's just the way it goes  
  
That's how the river flows  
  
"Close!" she called from the distant field, waving when she noticed him. "It's MDFMK!"  
  
Hermione immediately returned to Ron's chest and sucked his nipples. Fred cringed.  
  
If you stay stone cold, chance are your option will unfold  
  
All that glitters turns into gold  
  
"Their going at it in the field again?" George snickered.  
  
"... Not... quite..." Fred answered, suffering from post-traumatic syndrome.  
  
"Well, I'm going to bomb the lovebirds with stink pellets again anyway," George announced with an evil grin before racing out of the room.  
  
God damn the torpedoes  
  
It's time to run away with the sideshow  
  
Fred was glad that Ron and Hermione were about to be rudely interrupted. He leaned out of the window so that he could get a good view of the spectacle which was about to take place.  
  
Full speed right ahead  
  
Don't stop, you can sleep when you're dead  
  
He watched George creep over to the strangely-shaped hedges with a sack of stink pellets tied to his beltloop.  
  
Be proud to deviate  
  
This time to instigate  
  
Dictate your own fate  
  
Just as Hermione unzipped Ron's fly, a stink pellet hit her square in the eye, causing her to shriek. Fred laughed hysterically as Ron shoved Hermione to the side and chased after George, grunting threats and swear words. He then tackled George by lunging at his ankles and tripping him. His fly was still open.  
  
You're about to detonate  
  
See the world obliterate  
  
Fred's attention was returned to Hermione, who was left sitting in the field, rubbing her sore eye.  
  
God damn the torpedoes  
  
It's time to run away with the sideshow  
  
"Haha, good. You deserve it, slut," Fred chuckled venomously out of self-pity as he shut the window.  
  
Full speed right ahead  
  
Don't stop, you can sleep when you're dead  
  
He still had one more thing to pack before leaving to Hogwarts.  
  
God damn the torpedoes  
  
Boxes of clothes tumbled out of the closet as Fred swung the door open. He kicked the clutter out of his way and rummaged through the mess of gadgets and Weasley sweaters until he found his favorite posession: a 45 caliber MK23 which he purchased illegally in the back of a shady London "tattoo parlor".  
  
Dictate your own fate  
  
You're about to detonate  
  
See the world obliterate  
  
"Sometimes, they're simply more reliable than wandes," he assured his reflection in the mirror as he tucked the gun in his pants so that just the handle was sticking out. He smoothed his baggy black T-shirt over it so that it was completely hidden.  
  
God damn the torpedoes  
  
Dictate your own fate  
  
Fascination with muggle objects ran in the Weasley family.  
  
You're about to goddamn detonate  
  
A/N: Okay, Gred and Forge... err... Fred and George- may share the exact same DNA but they are two very different people. George is a prankster; Fred is a rogue. No, he's not evil, I said ROGUE. Oh and the song is "Torpedoes" by MDFMK, hence Hermione making that clear. Go download it. Now. Now! 


	4. New Office

"This is your new room," Filch grunted as he let Fred into the new office. He crept off into the shadows before Fred could say any more. The office consisted of just a dilapidated desk in the middle of a filthy, dimly-lit room which was encrusted with cobwebs.  
  
"Salos!" Fred uttered with a slight flick of his wand. A tornado of dust, dirt, and grime formed by the desk and quickly cleaned up the office. The place was completely bare but at least it became fit for healthy human inhabitance.  
  
"And where exactly am I supposed to sleep?" Fred asked himself, looking around the room for a bed or at least a mattress on the floor. Finally, he noticed a narrow door.   
  
"Damn, I'm getting worse living quarters as a faculty member than I did when I was a student!" Fred exclaimed as he examined the room in which he was expected to sleep. It was a tiny closet with a foam mattress and nothing else, not even a lamp. The cieling was so low that Fred had to crouch down in order to move around in the room.  
  
Fred removed his gun from his pants and threw it in the bottom drawer of the desk before enchanting the drawer with a complex locking charm.  
  
Just then, Albus Dumbledore opened the door.  
  
"Oh, hi!" Fred said, hoping that Dumbledore did not have X-ray vision.  
  
"Welcome, Frederick Weasley. I see you have tidied up your new room. Feel free to decorate it however you please."  
  
"Thanks... uh..."  
  
"I'm certain that you will find your teaching experience here at Hogwarts very rewarding. I know that you will make a very fine professor, and I look forward to observing your legacy in the classroom. Do you have any questions?"  
  
"Uh.... Actually, I don't think so..."  
  
"Okay, well, you have an hour to get yourself settled because there will be a faculty meeting in the great hall at five."  
  
"Okay... I'll see you at five... I guess..."  
  
Fred could tell that Dumbledore was distracted by something. He seemed oddly rushed and like there was something he wanted to say but didn't for some reason.   
  
He dragged his trunk closer to the desk and opened it. He dug through heaps of clothes and gadgets until he found at the bottom of his trunk a picture he had taken earlier in the summer: Hermione sitting on the floor of the living room, reading a large textbook "for leasure". She licks her thumb and turns the page.  
  
Fred folded the photograph and stuck it in his pocket. To Hermione's knowlege, Fred had just wanted to startle her with the bright flash, not tote around picture of her. 


	5. Dare Call it Treason

A/N: Sorry I haven't continued in a while. I've been terribly busy with school and my studies on the Great War. I know this chapter is rather short, but the story will pick up again at a different point so I sort of had to cut it off there.  
  
Fred sat up in bed and bumped his head on the low cieling. He remembered nothing about the faculty meeting the previous night. That's how dull it was. The students would be brought to the castle on the Hogwarts Express that evening. He missed that quirky train. He missed the wonderful view of Scotland from the train windows, he missed the food trolley, he even missed the ever-so-entertaining confrontations with Draco Malfoy.  
  
He still needed to make his office not so bland-looking so he hung up a plethora of Quidditch posters to mask the unsightly yellowish off-white color of the walls and decorated the desk and windowsill with Quidditch trophies. In no time, the room looked like something out of Ron's weirdest wet dream. Hermione, however, would grumble about how nothing in Fred's office had anything to do with charms, or even school.  
  
Fred had recently become interested in muggle books, especially the kinds that cover muggle events. He carefully placed on his desk an untouched copy of Dare Call it Treason by R. M. Watt. Hermione, now Headgirl, would be impressed. She might even come to think of him as somebody she could actually carry an intelligible conversation with rather than one of the two pranksters she used to issue countless detentions to last year. 


	6. The Sorting Hat Ceremony

The first-years were huddled in the corner of the Great Hall, nervously awaiting the Sorting Hat Ceremony to begin. Fred was seated at the faculty table, watching Hermione and Ron, now headgirl and headboy, sitting tantalizingly close to one another. Ron whispered something in Hermione's ear and she giggled. Fred thought that if their relationship had a little bit of style, then maybe he wouldn't be so irked by it,  
  
His train of thought was interrupted by the hoarse and jagged song of the Sorting Hat. The trembling first-years stared at the singing hat with wide eyes as if they were expecting it to fly down on them and bite them.  
  
"Adrien, Violet," McGonogall called out. After five agonizingly long seconds, a mousy-looking blond girl slowly climbed onto the stool.  
  
"Hufflepuff!" The hat cheered immediately after it was placed on Violet's head. The Hufflepuff table errupted into thunderous applause. With a wide grin on her face, Violet scurried to her appropriate house.  
  
"Barner, Howard."  
  
"Gryffindor!"  
  
"Beck, Cecilia."  
  
"Ravenclaw!"  
  
Fred's mind drifted to something more important: how was he going to teach charms to students who were nearly his age? They surely would not take him very seriously if he was so young. Then again, he could issue detentions to poorly-behaved students... and Slytherins.  
  
"Hey, why is Fred sitting at the faculty table?" Hermione asked when she spotted Fred sitting between Professor Sprout and Hagrid.  
  
"Oh, he's teaching charms this year," Ron answered nonchalantly.  
  
"What?! What happened to Flitwick?!"  
  
"He's on sabbatical."  
  
"What was Dumbledore thinking when he hired Fred?!"  
  
"Idunno."  
  
"He's our age! How is he supposed to teach us?!"  
  
"By... teaching us?" 


End file.
